When we
decide amorphousness has grace,
it’s partly
the result of taste: perception wed to a belief in symmetry –
a limitlessly
querying investigation of the eye intent
on finding
balance: employing such availing talents
as one’s
vision has for sorting out the yin and yang, those Big Bang
opposites primordially
offering their sense to everything. But I would
sever our
Existence’ flight from all dependence on that sort of wing:
I think it’s
odder: I think that formlessness is not just fodder for our
dreams of
form. It’s what it seems: unborn, unshowable, unknowable.
There’s grace in its abjectly unexaminable space..
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